


A Buck and a Dime

by misura



Category: Faster (2010)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're not my friend," Driver said. "I have no friends."</p>
<p>Killer shrugged. "You've got me," he said. "Do with that as you wish."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Buck and a Dime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jedibuttercup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/gifts).



"A dollar," Driver said. He'd finished his meal some while ago and was now on his second cup of coffee, blatantly not eyeing the pie this place offered by way of dessert.

"I'm not doing it for the money," Killer said. He'd stuck to coffee; it had seemed the safer option, and anyway, it allowed him to observe Driver, eating.

"Seriously, you've got issues."

"Money's irrelevant," Killer said, and then, because he did have some pride left, apparently (his therapist said he had too much of it, which just went to show what _she_ knew, didn't it?): "To me, personally, I mean. In the context of us."

"There is no us," Driver said, rising and reaching for either his gun or his wallet. (He kept both more or less in the same location, which Killer considered very unprofessional and also vaguely endearing, like Driver was some wild animal he'd picked up or something - some stray cat he'd taken in and would soon teach to eat from the palm of his hand, except that Killer didn't really like cats.)

"We're both here. I'm paying for your meal. There's most definitely an us."

Driver glared at him and dropped a tenner on the table.

"Fine," Killer said. "You can pay for my coffee. Thank you for making my point for me."

Driver was already walking away, not wasting another word on irrelevancies - Killer liked that about him, really; might even admire him for it a little, except that if you didn't use words and didn't use actions, then how did you communicate?

Poorly, he rather supposed.

Well.

Two could play that game, couldn't they?

 

Driver's car wasn't sleek or sexy, but she suited him well enough, Killer supposed. She was sturdy, strong - not silent, which was the one point where she failed to match her owner.

Killer's cars were all sleek and sexy, the way he'd liked his women.

_"I think I may be gay,"_ he'd told his therapist, not two weeks ago now. (Or maybe it had been two months; it was hard to keep track, when one never needed to keep appointments, or plan ahead.)

_"Do you experience this as a threat to your plans with Lily?"_ she'd asked. _"Your desire to start a family?"_

_"Who's Lily?"_ he'd asked in return, more because he felt one dumb question deserved another than because he'd genuinely forgotten. He would, of course. Eventually.

Somehow, he didn't miss the sex. He'd expected that, more or less.

 

"I'm not going to kill you," Driver said, three months into their - well, call it a 'relationship'.

Killer did, although he figured Driver wouldn't. Driver was a lone wolf with a classic muscle car and a way of hustling up money - not millions, but just enough to get by comfortably. (Again: unprofessional.)

"Because you feel an attachment?"

They only ever seemed to really talk in places like this. Bars. Motels. Places where people came to eat.

Killer thought he might have lost a few pounds, easy. His body was a temple, and most of these places served the kind of food he wouldn't have fed to his dog, if he'd had a dog, which he didn't - never had, never wanted to. Dogs were too simple-minded, too easy.

"You're like a ball and chains," Driver said, which was a charmingly archaic expression. "Dead weight hanging 'round my neck.."

"Live weight," Killer said. Driver hadn't killed anyone since they'd hooked up. Killer hadn't either, but then, he was different. He was in control; he only killed people for fun, for the rush.

"What do you want?" Driver asked.

It was a good question, and a fair enough one, Killer supposed.

_You. I want you._

Not sexually, per se, although Killer imagined that might be very satisfying, too, to have Driver in his bed, see who would master whom. (It might, he thought, even be pleasurable to _lose_ that struggle, to be mastered for once in his life.)

"Friends," he said, instead, opting for the civilized, sophisticated answer.

"You're not my friend," Driver said. "I have no friends."

Killer shrugged. "You've got me," he said. "Do with that as you wish."

Driver scowled at him, and then it was back to the cars, and the road.

 

Killer didn't know where they were going, precisely. He didn't even know if Driver was going anywhere at all, or if Driver was simply going on instinct, driving where his guts told him to go.

It was peaceful, in a way - Killer'd expected to feel frustrated, but for some reason, that didn't happen.

Before, he'd always set his goals clearly, and gone after them. He'd made plans, he'd allowed for contingencies. He'd known unequivocally when he'd attained his goals, when he'd mastered the thing (or occasionally) the person he'd set out to master.

He had no plans now, other than _follow Driver_.

He had no goals, other than _seriously, follow Driver_.

Perhaps, he speculated, it was his God-given civil right he was exercising here, the right all American people were supposed to have, because some ancient piece of paper said so. The pursuit of happiness.

He wasn't quite sure if he'd recognize it when he'd see it, though.

 

Another diner, another plate shoveled full of unappetizing food. Killer picked out the bits that were still recognizable as either vegetables or not-quite-swimming-in-grease potatoes.

"I'm getting pie," Driver said, which was unexpectedly communicative of him, and then: "You want some?"

For one, two seconds, the question didn't register properly.

"Cherry," Killer said, forcing out the word. "If they have it."

"I'll get you some apple," Driver said. "Miss behind the counter says that's what's good here."

"All right," Killer said.

"OK," Driver said, and walked off to get them their pie.


End file.
